


I Need You Like A Needle Needs A Vein

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: AU's FOR YOU [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Based on a Tumblr Post, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Husbands, I'm Sorry, It is fluffy ok, Love Confessions, M/M, Sad Ending, The one where you see colours when you've found your soulmate, but sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:57:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeh, you're an asshole and you still got to see fucking colours. What have you got that I haven't, huh?” Ricky sighs and looks up at the ceiling, almost deeply and in thought.</p><p>Clicking his tongue, Mickey shakes his head. “I have an Ian.”</p><p>- When your soulmate dies, the world goes back to black and white. (sorry not sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need You Like A Needle Needs A Vein

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry about this sadness (due to the sadness already on the show) but I fell in love with the colours thing and felt a little sadness today

Ian and Mickey had been with each other a good, healthy eight years. With stable jobs, a cosy home, enough fucking to last a lifetime- yeh, they were alright. Obviously, there was agruments, there always had been, but they always managed to make it back to eachother, because no matter what – their colours never failed them.

 

Mickey was working a night-shift, he looked at the clock and sighed with relief that he knew Ian should be waiting at home by now. The diner was a little short of busy, a couple of homeless beggars sipping at their coffee, one hooker waiting her next customer, and an old lady that came in near-by everyday. Mickey leaned against the back counter, waiting for someone to call him over. Ricky stood by him, still carrying on his conversation about soulmates, Mickey hadn't really been listening all that much.

  “See, I don't really believe in that bull-crap. I'm with Lisa and I've still not seen the reds and blues you always talk about.” Ricky whined, sipping at a glass of water.

 

  “That's because she ain't your fucking soul mate or whatever.” Mickey wiped his hands against his apron, batching up his own drink. The old woman at the end of counter nodded for another coffee, waving back he clicks on the machine.

 

Ricky follows him, still talking. “Why can't I have my own choice in who my soul-mate is, what if I want Lisa for the rest of my life. Why the hell do I have to struggle?”

 

 “There you go.” Mickey stirs the coffee and places it before the old woman. He scoffs towards Ricky's rant. “Because you're a fucking asshole.” Mickey leans back into his spot.

 

Rolling his eyes, Ricky slaps Mickey in the chest. “Yeh, you're an asshole and you still got to see fucking colours. What have you got that I haven't, huh?” Ricky sighs and looks up at the ceiling, almost deeply and in thought.

 

Clicking his tongue, Mickey shakes his head. “I have an Ian.”

 

“Well, I know that.” Ricky groans, he never hears the end of conversations revolving around the topic of Ian Gallagher. “The question is how to I find my own _Ian.”_ he looks towards Mickey for answers, huffing out in frustration. 

 

“Specifically by staying the fuck away from mine.” Mickey laughs, grabbing a dish cloth to start wiping down the counter full of crumbs and spilt drinks. “Now, grab that cloth and put some work into this will ya?”

 

Ricky grabs a cloth and carries on speaking, wiping the top slowly and carelessly. “Dude, I'm straight. I mean, Ian may be hot, but I like to have tits above where I stick it in.” The old woman at the end of counter jolts in the conversation, sending them a weird look. 

 

Mickey shrugs. “Guy's can have tits too man, just ask for the chunky ones and your all in.” 

 

His colleague looks mortified, slapping Mickey on the arm with his dish cloth he gasps. “Shut the fuck up, how does Ian put up with your undignified bullshit?” he jokes, staring hard towards the costumers that were scowling down at them. 

 

“Like the way I put up with your annoying voice, now go do something useful instead of busting my balls.” Mickey snaps, finishing off the top and leaning back onto the counter to sip onto his drink. 

Ricky shakes his head, dumping the cloth into the sink. “Nah, that's Ian's job.” He walks into the back room to find a broom and Mickey calls after him. “I swear to fucking god.” 

 

Mickey is busy at a table, refilling some guys coffee, before he goes back and Ricky's waiting to ask another million questions that were on his mind. “When did you first see your colours?” Shit, this got deep. 

 

“Fuck off man, you've heard that story a million times.” Mickey tries to shove it off, but Ricky seems dearly interested in the matter, like it meant something. 

 

“Come on, man. You've only told me that it was Ian who made you see colours, not _when._ ” 

 

Mickey couldn't take Ricky's pleading eyes any longer and burst out with it. “Well, it ain't fucking romantic, I'll tell ya.” Ricky nods for him to elaborate. “I saw his red-fucking-hair when I was in the middle of trying to bash his head in.” 

 

Ricky dazed into confusion, “Wait, why the hell were you trying to kill him? What the fuck.” 

 

Mickey shrugged, smiling at the memory and only just really realising how far they had come. “He didn't fuck my sister.” 

 

“That's...not really a valuable reason to bash someones head in?” Ricky racked his brain, trying to process the new information. 

 

Shit, Mickey didn't notice how weird it did sound. “She told us he touched her or some shit, so we were protecting family. Turns out he was just fucking gay and loved sticking it in ass than in my sister.” Ricky looks dazzled, he follows a very relaxed Mickey around the diner. 

 

“Then what happened, he wouldn't of just forgiven you for trying to bash his skull in, right?” 

 

Mickey's mind flashes back -  _tyre iron; store room ; dugouts;”he's not afraid to kiss me”; “she's gonna fuck the faggot out of ya”; “would you atleast look at me?” ; “Don't do this.” ; “Four years Minimum”; fairytale; “you touch that cock I'll break every knuckle on your fucking hand”; “You coming back?”; “Of course we are.” ; “What you and I have, makes me free.” ; “You're a fuckin' dick.”; Bi-polar ; “I'll be there.” ; “You're sick.”; “I'm worried about you...I love you.”; “I'm sorry I'm late.”;_

 

“ _He's got me.” -_

 

It was too much to explain, to deep to explain, so he shoved it off. “Long story, man.” He hopes that Ricky will just leave it, he hopes to fuck that he doesn't have to describe the whole shittiness they had to go through, just to get to the good parts.

 

“That bad, huh?” Ricky speaks softly, almost sympathetic.

 

“Bad is an understatement, what about _ripping my heart apart_ kinda bad?” Mickey inputs, gesturing a heart coming out of his chest and shredding into small little pieces.

 

Ricky's eyes widen at the play out. “Jesus, you're making me not want a soul-mate right now.”

 

“Nah, man. Don't flunk it.” Mickey stands by his broom. “It's always good when you find the only person who can fix your shitty heart.” He smiles to himself, knowing how cringey he's being, but Ian wasn't here to take the piss – some-how he knew Ian would know anyway.

 

“So, Ian plastered you up basically?” Ricky asks.

 

Mickey nods to himself, giggling at his joke. “In ways more than one, yeh.” He continues to sweep up, catching the dirt into a dustpan and scooping it in the bin. Ricky is close behind, trying to arrange stuff on the shelves.

 

“Gross. I don't need to listen about your and Ian's sex life _again._ You guys are way to advanced for my liking.” Ricky puts his headphones in as he makes his way around the front of the diner, he ways to the music and leaves Mickey to his own thoughts.

 

Just as a smile appeared on his face, he feels a sensation in his chest, like his heart was about to burst any second. He falls forward and catches himself off the front of the counter with a firm hand, his eyes feel funny, like they do when he has had too many rounds of sex and _way_ to many beers. He blinks quickly, but in the corner of his eye he notices something; the diner door isn't red any-more. It's black.

 

It's because he's tired.

 

It has to be.

 

Scanning the room, its like no-one cares as much, he watches as the colour he once saw slowly starts to fade away; he see's how the old woman’s coat isn't purple any more, how Ricky's hair isn't a chocolate brown any-more, how the gold band around his finger isn't Gold anymore, but _grey._ How can it be grey? Swaying on the spot, he feels himself nearly falling before someone taps him on the back.

 

It's Ricky. “You alright, Mick?” For a second Mickey thinks it's Ian whose talking to him, Ian is the _only_ person that calls him that. His eyes widen as the green colour from Ricky's eyes is no longer there. He had heard about this.

 

Ian had told him about this.

 

It was all to do with your soul-mate, it always fucking had been. Ian had told him that when you meet your soul-mate you see _all_ the colours, but when they die – it all goes with them. Every speck of it. All of life is sucked away from you because your _life_ is taken away from you.

 

Mickey heart drops.

 

“I've got to go.” Mickey pushes past Ricky, tears in his eyes. He swings the black door open and runs out onto the street. Everything is black and white. The cars are all the same colour just in different shades and he feels himself crumbling. He can't see which ones are cabs or which ones are just someone's get-away, but he feels himself running now.

 

The diner was only less than ten minutes away from their apartment, he feels his veins run cold as he turns street after street. The lamps bring light were just white, almost blinding. He felt hopeless. He ran towards his and Ian's street, and sees something in the distance. A slumped body against the tarmac road. Without a beat, Mickey is sprinting over there, he can't see if the hair is read because everything is fucking _grey,_ but when he gets close he sees a flicker of red, like a light bulb nearly going out.

 

Mickey can't breathe, it's Ian. The tall boy is laid against the tarmac, his face covered in blood on one side. His arm is trapped beneath him, and his legs are sprawled against the floor. Mickey can only guess someone had hit him with their car because everything was all over the place.

 

Red flickers.

 

“Ian.” He cries out, falling to the ground and cradling Ian's head in his hands. He doesn't care that they are in the middle of an open road. “ _Ian,_ Fuck.” He shakes the boy against his lap, feeling for any kind of pulse.

 

It flickers again.

 

“Mick...-” He hears a slow whisper. Mickey's eyes dart to the boy on his lap, his tears falling against Ian's shirt uncontrollably. “ _Mickey.”_ Ian winces out, his voice strained. 

 

Mickey can't stop himself from shaking, or holding in the tears, he brings Ian closer in his lap, wanting nothing more but to see that red-hair, see them hazel eyes, touch that pale skin. “I'm here. I'm here.” He repeats, pulling Ian's coat further around the boy. 

 

Then the red flickers again. Mickey can't see through his hard tears, but he can feel Ian's warmth slowly drifting. Ian gasps out for air and clutches to Mickey's hand. “I love you, I  _ love  _ you.” Ian mumbles into the FUCK-U-UP tattoo's, sloppily kissing the letters. 

 

“Don't say that shit like you're saying goodbye.” His hand holds on tighter, watching as a passer by dials and ambulance and starts frantically speaking against the phone. Mickey leans down, kissing Ian's lips through the tears. “Don't you fucking leave me, _Don't.”_

 

Ian lets out a chuckle. “I always wanted to go first.” 

 

Mickey wipes his eyes against his coat, rocking them both as he let his eyes fill up again. Sweeping the hair out of Ian's eyes, he croaks out. “Why the fuck would you want that, why Ian?” 

 

Ian's shaky, bloody hand reaches up and touches Mickey's touch, palming it. “I – I couldn't take the pain of you not being there.” Ian's a mess, his blood running through the streaks of tears falling against his face. “I wouldn't beable to-to cope...without seeing those blue eyes everything fuck-king day.” He laughs through a wince, legs shifting against Mickey's hold. 

 

Mickey feels angry, he wants to shoot something. He looks down to his husband, wanting to fix it all. “What, and you think I  _ can?  _ You are more dumb than you look, Gallagher.” Mickey tries to joke because Ian wasn't dying. Ian  _ wasn't  _ dying. He couldn't die. Not Ian Gallagher. 

 

Pulling Mickey's face to his, you could hear the hitching, painful gasp in his breath. “You deserve the world, Mickey.” He whispers against his lips. 

 

Mickey kisses his hard, holding him closer. “I don't need your insightful shit right now, I  _ need  _ you to survive.” He holds him closer, listening out for sirens that seem to be drawing nearer. “I  _ need  _ you.” He breaks out, crying into Ian's chest caped in blood. 

 

“You were-e always a needy bitch.” Ian coughs out, voice growing more tired. 

 

Mickey wants to laugh, but he can't, it wasn't funny. “I'm still  _ am.  _ Stop putting shit into past tense, you ain't leaving. You're staying here, you're staying with me.” Just like that he felt the room flash to back when Fiona had told him Ian was sick, then he felt the world crumble back down again. Just like that day. 

 

Ian's looking up to him with  _ those  _ eyes. Hopeful. “I love you, Mickey Milkovich.” His thumb strokes on the older boys cheek, a smear of blood against the pale skin. Just as Mickey wants to say it back, he  _ had  _ to say it back, Ian's eyes begin to close. 

 

“No. No. No.” Mickey screams out, shaking Ian so his eyes don't flutter closed. “No, Ian.  _ Please.” _ he kisses at his forehead, pulling on his clothes. Ian's eyes continue to push themselves to open, but the lids are heavy. Mickey leans down, kissing him hard, his lips are growing cold. “I love you. I fucking love you.” 

 

The sirens are closer, Mickey can't see the colour of the lights. Just the flicker of read against Ian's hair. “I swear to fuck, Gallagher. I'll kick your ass.” 

“Ian, open your fucking eyes-

“ _ Please, I fucking love you.” _

Mickey can feel a pulse, against Ian's neck. But it's weak. “You better than fucking leave me, you  _ can't  _ leave me, not like this.” He's crying into Ian's limp face, clutching to the remaining life left in him. Mickey rests his head against Ian's chest, he can hear the heartbeat, he can  _ feel  _ it. 

 

The ripping out of his heart feels as bad as he had described it. He whispers Ian's name over and over, keeping his ear against the chest of his husband.  _ Lub-dub, Lub-dub, Lub-dub.  _ Mickey can still hear it, he can see just a shred of red down the road. He doesn't know what it is, but maybe – he thinks, that the light is coming back, because red had been the first ever colour he had seen. 

 

_ Lub-dub, Lub-dub-  _

 

“ _ Ian..” _ He whispers to himself, barely able to speak. He hears that beat over and over – Ian was still there, he could still  _ be  _ there. Until he wasn't – until Ian was pulled from his arms and laid onto a stretcher,  _ until  _ Mickey couldn't hear that heartbeat and all he could do was sit by and keep seeing that flash of red that told him Ian was still  _ his.  _


End file.
